Angel Of Death
by Alan Spencer
Summary: Taylor is in the car when Annette's crash happens, and triggers.
1. 1

**1/**

I'm dreaming again. I was in a car, watching the scenery drift pass by me. I just watched, without moving. I talked a lot with the woman in the front seat, driving the car. I don't remember what we talked about. I remember so many rambling, meanigless scenes, but I can't remember this, no matter how many times I reach out for it.

Even if I could remember it, it wouldn't change anything. Things would still be as they were now. But, at least it would have been less painful. I would have at least remember the last moments we had together. Accidents were accidents because they weren't expected to happen. It was normal day, and there was no reason for it to be anything else. But not remembering that time, what they talked about, what I felt made me think I drifted past throught our last day together as I drifted pass the familiar scenery in the car.

It happened in a instant. Not even she had seen it coming. A huge sound of impact, like a explosion. The swinging car, myself shaking back and forth held in place only by the seatbelt, and the heavy crash which seemed to have took her away from the world. After the impact only a vague sense of terror had been squeezing my heart, like keeping my emotions in place, but it was like the crash had broke that barrier and everything came flooding out. I cried and trembled. I heard her moans of pain coming from somewhere that seemed far, far away.

Mom.

I called out to the pain wracked woman, who was not even able to move and could only moan in pain. I called out to her desesperantlyfrom the bottom of my heart, because I believed that she would come from me and could take all my pain away. I could only believe that, because I was hurt and scared and I couldn't really understand what was going on. She didn't come, of course.

Then, something like

a fragmented dream.

I unhooked the seatbelt and crawled towards her. Throught my tears, the word looked like a unesteady illusion and I myself was the only source of definitive reality. The sharp headache made me felt like I was floating. I crawled to her, and when I finally got a good look at her my mind came to a grinding halt.

"Go away."

I do remember her telling me that.

"D-don't look."

I also remember her begging me for that. However, I didn't listen. Something had already happened to my eyes by then, but in my state of shock, I was only vaguely aware of it and it didn't event enter my consideration. She looked bad. She looked so bad even a small child could finally let herself understand how the situation was. Her pale face, the blood dripping from her mouth her gasps on pain and her light trembling. Also, her body was filled with black lines and there was a black point in her chest which was already fading away.

I didn't understand dead, and I couldn't even put words to it… but when I saw it, I understood she was going to die and there was nothing anybody could do about it.

I don't really remember what happened right after. I guess somebody called the ambulance. They got us inside, in the same one. She was begging in a weak voice to let them stay with me, to not take them away. So they put them in the same one. I was not bad, so they could afford to do that. And I wanted to be there, too, even though I didn't want to do it. Because I couldn't leave her. Some part of me insisted that if I left she was going to fade away and never return, and that she couldn't dissapear like that, as if by magic, if I was looking.

I sat there, my hands grasping one of her weaks hands, and crying. She looked at me with those numb eyes whose light had already fading, and a soft smile like having me there was everything she needed. On the way to the hospital, she closed her eyes. I thought she had drifted off to sleep because of the pain and fatigue, but not. She had died. Her outside was not so bad, all things considered, but her internal injuries hadn't even let her last to reach the hospital. The black point and those lines had faded. Even with that in front of my eyes, even with the innate understanding I had about it, my whole self refused to believe what had happened in front of my eyes.

Some doctor separated me from the corpse, and said sweet, empty words in a clumsy attempt to calm me down. That just made me confused. That they had took my hand away from mother was strange, when they had let me do so before. That a adult was speaking to me in such a soft, awkard tone was strange, because there was nothing to speak like that about. After all, she was only dead/asleep.

That was the story of how I, Taylor Hebert, lost my mother at a very young age. It's also the story of how I became a Parahuman, a being not super humans but beyond human limits and reasons weilding powers beyond humanity's understanding. Many children dreamed of becoming one. And many adults, too. To me, it was nothing but a curse. For how I had gained it, and for what I had gained.

Being able to see the death of things meants also being close to death, to the world's uncertainty and fragility. It was to know that I would unravel everything, with my very own hands. Objects, things and… yes, I have never tried but, surely, people too. It was sickening. At that time I could hardly felt anything, so I didn't really affect me, but after that, after the confusion and pain and the tears, I was left with bitter memories and unrealized hopes and with death which envoloped me like it had a physical weight and I began to understand what I had been sattled with.

When we reached the hospital, they took my mother's corpse to the morgue and I was sat outside to wait for father. I just sat with my hands clenching the helt of my skirt, my head down and my vision clouded with tears, wondering, wondering even though I knew, why they didn't let me see my mother anymore and when was father going to arrive.

Some nurse came to awkardly ask me if I needed anything. I answered that I wanted to see my mom, but they couldn't let me. The nurse felt silent, went away and came back with… some sweet. I took it and ate it even though I was not angry, even though everytime I tasted them it felt like I was about to vomit, because I was always taught to be a good girl and it would have been bad to refuse the nurse's kidness. If I did that, when mother came back she was going to be mad with me and that would have been bad.

Really, how stupid…

Father came. I could see his shadow beyond the doors of the room, but I didn't heard as they told him that his wife was dead. He came into the room, and, when he saw me, he started crying. I saw him crying and his pain filled face made me felt horrible, so I started crying too and we hugged each other. Also… that pain in his face was like a confirmation, so I couldn't lie to myself anymore and it came crashing down on me.

Mother was dead.

Mother wouldn't come back anymore.

Everything after that were only formalities. The due the living had to the dead. Mourning, the preparations for the funeral, anger and pain, trying to dealt with the fact that she was not going to be there. Dull days when I felt like I was floating, and they drifted pass me without staying with me. I remember something vividly, though. I remember looking down at the casket where she had been buried. She looked… beatiful, that was the right word for it. She smelled so nice, and there was no trace of the pain and the blood that stained her on that day, also she, really, she looked even more beatiful that she had been in life. It reminded me of a well made doll, or a delicate piece of glasswork. What the living wanted from the dead. Some formalities to try to keep alive the image of those who had departed in their hearts.

It made me felt sick down to my very bones, and even now that was engraved on my heart.

It was painful. It was hard to even keep on living, even though I didn't want to die, either. I had lose something. It was painful because I understood that what was lost wouldn't never return and there couldn't be a replacemente for another. So what was left in my life was a empty spot and the bitterness and pain flowing from it; a unhealeable scar.

Father never recovered from that, and I myself… something broke inside of me that day. Each day was as much work for father as for myself, but while I pretended to keep moving forward, he couldn't even do that. He even forgot to feed me, and it was Emma's father the one who had to give him a woke up call. Those few days, I went to eat with Emma and I pretend that I was no big dealt and I understood. Some part of me did understand, but another part of me refused to and only held resenment for him for forgetting about me when I needed him the most.

Emma was the one who made him bearable, even if only a little. Yes, her. My best friend. She was beatiful, headstrong, outgoing and everything I never was. Sometimes I could hardly remember how such different people became friends, but we were, and she was there to support me and make me felt normal right from the beginning, even when father wasn't.

Really, I didn't know what would have happened if Emma hadn't been there…

* * *

I woke up. I could felt the strong sunlight and the wind on my face. I slowly opened my eyes, letting them adjust to the light. I felt groggry and tired, like I hadn't sleep. No wonder, with a dream like that. The memory I most wanted to forget often came back to me in my dreams.

I threw the memory away, like I usually did every morning. Then, I started my morning routine. I told myself why I had to get out of the bed, why I couldn't stay like this, why I couldn't give up on living. I remembered the people that loved me and would be devasted to see me go, I remembered my own pain at losing my mother and I imagened them twisted by that pain, the scar that would left in their hearts. I spend a few minutes like that until I finally gathered the streght to get up of bed. Usually I could forget those things eventually, with Emma or with something else, but in the mornings, with everything fresh in my mind, it was too hard to do anything and I had to drag my body the whole way.

When I went down, I found my father in the kitchen, talking on the phone. I waved at him and he waved back. I didn't say anything, because it was probably somebody from the Dockworker's Association and I didn't want to brother him. I went to make myself a decent breakfast.

"So what's up, Alan?" Dad said. "It's rare for you call this early."

Oh, so it was Alan, Emma's father. I wondered what he wanted. Maybe to invite us to a barbacue or something. That would be nice.

"...What's wrong?" Dad muttered, worried, so I couldn't heard him. But I did. My heart starting beating rapidly, and I told myself it wouldn't happen again, wouldn't happen, wouldn't happen… "Why are you crying? Emma… God."

As soon as I heard her name right after that ominous sentence, the desapair alone almost killed me.

"We will be there. I… I'm sorry..." a few seconds after, he hanged up and turned to me. I got a good look at his face, and his stricken expression made me see him as he had been back then, looking at me at the morgue so many years ago and I… I got a dizzy, and I worried I could faint.

No her, no her, no her, no her, damn, damn, damn, why did it have to be her of all people?! I tried to control my breathing and my heart beat that was as loud as a explosion.

"Sweetie, calm down, she's not dead, just… there was accident, she's fine, she's going to live but it was… I tell you on the way to the hospital, okay?"

I nodded dumbly. The emotions raging around within me were releasedl like a flood, and I started crying. I barely was concious of much of what he said. After hearing that first sentence the only feeling filling my empty chest was relieft that she was not dead and I could still stay with her. We hurriedly went to the car. I didn't even change out of my pajamas, no way I was going to waste time for something dumb like that. I wanted to see her and quickly. That was the only thing I wanted. While the car drifted pass the familiar scenery that looked like another world, Dad started telling me the story.

"She… her father and her were cornered in a alley by… some gang thungs, and she went throught a bad experience, but she doesn't have a serious wound and Miss Militia rescued her in time." Dad said. "She was nearly… you know, she..." he shallowed. "I don't even want to say it."

"Raped." I said that word, as if trying to understand it.

"No, not raped, but they were… they told her that they would take one thing away from her, and that she could chose. One eye, her ears, her hair." His grip tightened on the steering wheel. "I felt sick… damn, I shouldn't have even told you this, but… you deserve to know the truth."

"Yeah. Its better this way." I clenched my head in to fists. Inside of my still half-sleep mind unclear thoughts started to drift and began to solidify, as we made our way to the hospital. By the time we reached it, I had made my decision.

She was in the hospital not for her wounds, which were negligible, but for physicological evaluation. After such a horrible accident, it was only natural. I...I had gone throught it, too. Once. Wasn't pretty. My heart ached. I never wanted her to experience something like that and I didn't want her to go throught all those process. Was it really much to ask that Emma could remain happy? Damn, this world. This damned world. No, not the world. The people. The people were the root of the problems. Damn them.

When we came to Emma's room, her downcast look brightened.

"Taylor!" hearing her call my name with such joy made it harder to hold back my tears, but I somehow held steady. Because it was necessary. Because, in things like this, every person needed someone to depend on and if I could hold a strong front in front of her she couldn't depend on me and forget the bitterness and the pain, if only for a little while.

But, damn, it was so painful to see her like this and all the more so now, when I was hugging her, because I could felt her trembling. Even her bright red hair seemed to have lost her usual candence. What was she feeling now, she wondered? She surely was feeling, even now, the cold steel of a knife against her throat or a gun pointid and her and surely, her mind was full of what happened, what could happened. And I couldn't do a damn thing to help her. It was so frustrating, so very frustrating…

"Taylor..." she muttered, her voice muffled against my shirt. And, finally, she broke

down. "I'm so glad you are here… so glad..."

"That's right." I whispered back to her. "I'm here, and I won't ever leave you. We will get throught this together."

She didn't answer. She just started crying harder, and in response, I just held her more tightly.

She eventually calmed down enough to stop crying, and we had a awkard conversation, the two of us. That was the pain of the pieces trying to fit back in to place, the pieces that had lost the shape they should be able to return to. I had made clear that if she wanted to talk to me about it, she would do it, anywhere, anytime. That I would be there to listent no matter what. But she asked me to put it aside, so we put it aside. I could understand. It truly was not healthy to bottel up those kinds of things inside, but now, so soon after the incidet, it would be hard to anybody. So soon, when their body and their mind could still felt the accident…

Dad got called in the middle of it from work, and he excused himself to whoever called him, saying that now was not the time, that he was busy, a emergency and that they could last a day without him. But a few hours later he had to excuse himself due a emergency. I stayed, though. Nothing could move me from here. We talked and talked and then we stopped.

"I'm sorry. I..." Emma yawned. "I'm a little tired, so I want to sleep."

"Don't worry." I replied. "It's fine. I stay here until you fall asleep."

I squeezed the hand that I had been grabbing for most of the conversation. She gave me a soft smile in response, and close her eyes. She didn't take long in falling asleep. It was only natural. With all that happened, it was a wonder she stayed awake from so long. I slowly took my hand away from hers, and then turned to look at Alan, whose eyes were fixed on his little girl. His stare was distant, and I could easily imagine what those tired eyes were really seeing.

"Alan." I called up to him, softly, so as to not wake him. He didn't heard me. "Alan."

I called up to him, a little louder this time. He finally reacted and looked at me.

"Sorry. I… I was lost in my thoughts." he awkardly muttered. "Taylor, I… I haven't said this yet, so thanks. I appreciate it. That you came here, and that you are such a good friend to Emma. I… it hurts to say, but I wouldn't have know how to calm her down like you did. I would have been utterly lost without you."

"It's fine. She's my friend. That's what friends are for." Yes, that was exactly it. What friends were for. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes, sure. Shoot."

"Which gang did it?"

"...The Merchants." Alan said. "But why do you want to know that?"

I turned away from him and looked back at Emma.

"No reason at all." I answered. I didn't think it was very convicing, but either way, Alan didn't ask me about it. That was just fine by me. I didn't want to let anybody know. I would tell Emma, when the time was right. But I didn't think I could tell anybody else.

These eyes of mine which I have been living with for years, eyes that see death. When I concentrated really hard I could supress those abominable lines and points. I have been surpresing them for all those years, so I wouldn't be able to see death. I promised myself I wouldn't never use them. I will throw those two promises I have keep for years. For the first time, I would release my eyes and weild them in order to kill.

I would punish them for what they did to my best friend.


	2. 2

**2/**

I didn't come to know the result of her physiological evaluation, but I didn't want to see it either. I didn't need the opinion of a stranger who didn't even know her. Anyways, Emma went home that very same day. She had calmed down somewhat, though she was still downbeat and it was obvious she was trying hard to mend back the pieces and return to who she was most of the time she smile. But this was just a first step of a long, long road. We could do this together.

With my decision made and my target acquired, I started the necessary preparations for the mission. I was not very feminine, true, but I did know how to knit. I threw together a serviceable costume for myself in secret, down there in the basement. It didn't have to be anything special. I also expend some time to make myself a bulletproof vest. I could be sure how well it worked, but well, better that nothing, and it would have to do because I didn't have the money to procure myself a good one. Besides. With these eyes, I could do what was necessary even without any sort of protection.

I understand my combat streght and my limits. I have no intention of dying, and I'm not foolish enough to face something I cannot overcome. However, I can. The whole gang… I can wipe them out by myself, with these eyes. They only had a few capes, and Skidmark, the leader and the strongest of them, was not really that strong. The rest were just thugs, badly equipped thugs. And drugged most of the time. It was going to be easy. Terrible easy.

I recall my mother's hunched form on the seat of the car, her pale face and the blood dripping from her mouth.

Yes, terrible easy, but it was all right. I knew from a long time ago that humans die terribly easy, and even without these eyes, that's a truth nobody could ignore. I have to do this, so they cannot touch Emma again. And most of all, so that they cannot touch anybody ever again. This accident had made me realize my foolishness. I refused to use my eyes because of its terrible power, but that very same power could be used to help people. How many people I could have saved if I had moved forward sooner? I couldn't do much with the body of a child, but once I grew up enough I should have moved forward for the sake of the people. So that at least, something good could have come up out of that accident.

...Perhaps because of that accident, I think something I should. Anyways, I have my costume and a knife. The tools are all here. The knife is sharp and sturdy. I don't need the streght to kill somebody, so even a kitchen knife would have been fine, but it won't do me any good if it breaks when I block something, so I got a knife of a good quality, perfect for this kind of work.

I move out of the house, carrying the knife in my pocket and the costume in a bag. While I took time to do the preparations, I also informed myself as much as I could about the Merchants. I didn't an objective planed. I was just going to go to their territory, find a place and attack them and wipe them out. Today I was going out merely to make a strong declaration of war, and nothing else.

In those days, I have gone to visit Emma everyday. Of course. She's my friend, after all. Anything else, even this revenge, was secondary to being for her in her time of need, like she was for me. It was heartening… in a sense. When we talked I could almost felt the Old Emma right there, on the surface, so close I could reach out and grab those moments that I had been sure wouldn't come back anymore. Yes, it had been good. If you ignored that she was afraid to even come out of her own house, that she double-checked and triple-checked every lock and such things, it was like the old times.

I made a bitter smile.

Before I could actually get to the Merchant's territory, I slipped into an alley to change. I used the fire escape of that building to get up to the rooftop. So I wouldn't be discovered so easily, and so as to provide a vantage point to measure the situation. I went from the rooftop to the next one, leaping the distance to it in a single leap, and I officially stepped into the territory of the Merchants. Or more like, jumped into.

I went from rooftop to rooftop, looking for a appropriate target. My biggest weakness was that I didn't have supernatural durability, so a surprise attack for a strong Cape could easily be lethal. But Skidmark, the leader of the Merchants… well, his power was nothing to be worried about, not really. So as long as I do everything as I should, he shouldn't posse any threat to me as well. That's why wiping out the Merchants was something feasible, not a pipe dream. The PRT didn't even brother because they had their eyes in larger menaces, but at least I could help by getting this weight out of their backs. The other gangs were going to follow, too. As soon as I got myself a better costume.

I found one of their hideouts. As expected, they were loitering around, very high and very, very careless. I couldn't heard what they were saying from up here, not enough to matter, but I didn't really care what were they doing or planning to do now, anyways. They weren't going to be able to do it.

Dimly, I realized my hands were shaking. I took a deep breath, and clenched my hands into fists, trying to stop my trembling. I was fine. This would be fine. And yet, knowing all of that, I could shake off this uneasy feeling that gripped my heart. It was only natural. I was fragile, too. Everything was so fragile. This world… was like a delicate piece of glasswork that could break at any moment. I, too…

I saw my mother's hunched over form again. I saw an image of her, so artificial like a doll, in that casket. I could die. I was strong, I was unbelievably strong, but that didn't change that I could die just as much as easily as anybody else. Nobody could escape from death. I was throwing myself at this for various things, but some part of me wanted to run away even knowing that. My reasons seemed suddenly insignificant compared to my fear of death.

I readied my knife. And, for the first time it so long, I released those eyes. The normal world became a patchwork of lines and abominable points like black holes. Casually, I assumed a fighting stance. Down there were twenty three enemies. Not all of them were armed, but nearly. More or less what I had expected, honestly. They had guns too, and I couldn't trust in my bullet proof best because it was made by an amateur, but no matter. I didn't need it, anyway.

I crouched on all fours, like a beast that had fixed its eyes on its prey. I leaped the distance to the closest enemy. The onrushing wind was an annoyance, but I keep my eyes wide open. They didn't even realize I was there until it was too late. As I feel, I used my knife to slash a line from the back of its head to its side. I landed, and as I rolled to my feet I wielded the knife, cutting off the legs of an enemy closest to the one I had already killed, just staring in shock with his mouth wide open like an idiot. His scream of pain was deafening. Don't need to waste time to finish him off. With his legs gone, he would soon bleed out in any case.

I rushed to the stunned onlookers, my intent to kill sharp. How shallow. They were backing away, afraid, not even reaching for their weapons. The moment they ended here, they should have understood the simple truth. Sooner or later, their moment was going to come. But they didn't even have the will to fight me. Surely, some would believe that this couldn't be happening, that I had to be a drug induced hallucination right until I severed their life and ended everything.

The space was wide, but I was fast enough for it to matter and not let them escape. They finally took out their weapons, getting ready to fight for their lives. I slash the weapon of the thug in front of me, causing it to break in half, and then slash his neck before he could react. A shot was fired. I casually dodged it, and the bullet hit somebody else. A maelstrom of death, I closed in on my prey who couldn't do anything to change their fates no matter what they did about it.

Surely, they had to know it too. Even people like them should be able to recognize the strongest in the room. The only reason that they weren't begging was that they had cached up just yet and, also, that even those brains of them recognized that begging wouldn't change that they were going to be killed next.

In little more that a minute, I was the only living thing in that space.

Static. My head hurt so much that it felt like it was filled with static. I took a deep breath, and… I looked around my surroundings. Blood, blood, blood, blood everywhere and scattered body parts. The scene of a massacre made by some sort of animal. Some of them, with their arms or legs gone, weren't dead yet and they had bleed out so much already that they didn't even have the streght to scream. They were just writhing in pain. Not many, just six. Just? That was too many already.

I felt like I could vomit out my insides. My eyes were open far and wide, my breathing was erratic and my whole body was trembling. I, stared at such a gruesome scene, without doing anything. I put the blood drenched knife I was still grasping in my trembling hands back in my pocket, and I rushed out. My heart was beating so hard I seriously feared I would have a heart attack, and drop dead right here.

I ran and ran even though I barely had any streght in my body. My breathing sounded as loud as a hurricane to my ears. Anyways, that. I didn't do it. I couldn't do that. It has to be some mistake. Yes, a mistake. Some sort of mistake, or a dream. It all would be cleared out soon and I could return to my life.

But… hadn't I been aiming for this result from the start?

That thought I didn't want to contemplate gave streght back to my body, and I pushed myself further, as if to escape reality.

* * *

I changed, I went out of the alley like it was nothing and back to my house with the bloody knife still in my pocket and all too aware of it. I walked, pretending like it was nothing and it what seemed an astronomical distance, I finally reached my house. My mind was empty like it had been bleached out. It was a blessing since I didn't want to think of anything, anyways.

I got inside the empty house, and went up to my room and to its bathroom. I took off the knife, and carefully washed it. I had thoughtlessly put the blood drenched knife in the pocket of my pants, so the pants would have to be washed too, before my father would return home from work. Ah, shit. Blood was harder to wash off that I thought. I watched it drip down the sink, feeling truly sick. I didn't vomit, though. I put in on my pocket, the other pocket, turned around and wobbled to my bed. I let myself fall on the top of it, exhausted.

I… had killed.

That's right. There was no way to deny it. I had seen that brutal scene with my own hands, after all. Only… it had been me. I remembered how I did it and the feelings and sensations from back then, but I didn't feel fully like myself. It was… like a was a character of a video game being pulled around by a controller. It had to been another aspect of my power. Certainly, how I moved back then was impossible for a mere human. And that technique, too. I didn't how to fight, but I fought splendidly, with precise movements and no hesitation. Yeah, it had to been that. I thought I had only gained one power in the car crash, but I must have Second Triggered and gained a power that would only active in a fight. But it was my power. I couldn't shake off the responsibilities for that brutal scene. I did it with my own hands. I killed many people.

"But… so what?"

Yeah, so what? Give me a break, I'm not a kid after all! I might not been very wordly, but I understand how things are. I understand that things aren't black and white, that some criminals were not at fault for the life they lead. But if I was to fight for this city, I couldn't go around separating the 'real' criminals for those who had some sort of sob story. That way would only lead to me getting deceived, betrayed or killed because I pulled my punches despite not being able to afford to do it.

That was the simple truth.

I went out. I put the clothes to wash, including my pants, and went to take a shower. Usually I didn't waste any time showering, but this time I took a long one and tried to lose myself in that simple pleasure. I didn't quite manage it, not really. I could still see it. Like it was right in front of me. The blood, the scattered limbs. Could I ever stop seeing it? I was not really sure.

When I finished, I got out and walked to the mirror of the bathroom, still naked. I was a little chubby, and with nothing to show off. Not surprise there. But I was not intending to look at myself. I released my eyes, and I saw the walls and the glass get covered with lines. My reflections was crisscrossed with lines, and on the center on my body, like a black heart, was the point. So fragile.

To do anything you had to be prepared to make sacrifices. I told this fact to myself, as if to get into my head. Somebody who was not willing to sacrifice anything couldn't gain anything. I killed because those were my limits. I was not a hero who could overwhelm criminals while restraining myself. I had these extraordinary physical capabilities and this killing power. It was not that I didn't have the power, but t hat my power was such that I couldn't do anything less. I didn't have some convenient power which I could use to knock out people and save the day without killing any criminal so I could still flash my politically corrent self at the cameras to reassure the people.

That's all. I killed those people because I needed to do it. I was drived by something else, but that didn't change that simply fact. I would have to have done it even if I was fully aware of myself. There hadn't been another way. I quietly understood that even back then, but the casual brutality I showed and how I took care of those people, like it had been naugh but a daily chore, had disturbed me greatly. Also, the feeling of not being myself was terrifying.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and slowly worked to supress my eyes again. It took me a few minutes. When I did, I opened my eyes again. The first thing I noticed was that my vision was a bit muddy, and then the eyes of my reflection shining with tears. Oh. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hands.

...Why this obsession with not killing, in the first place?

Because of the Endbringers, of course. Humanity couldn't afford to kill somebody who could be used against them. We were losing the war and victory couldn't even be seen as we were now, so of course we had to do what we could. However, a Villain powerful enough to be actually useful in one of these fights was not a person who could be contained in ordinary jail. Not even the PRT. And all it left was the Birdcage, the prison nobody could come back from.

I closed my eyes again. The path in front of my eyes was long, long and shrouded in darkness. With that distance that couldn't even be measured in my mind, I felt tired and weary and I wanted to give up. But someone had to do it. Somebody had to change this world, who was heading to its definitive destruction.

And maybe I was not the right person for the job, but I would take on that weight.

* * *

I got out, got changed. I heard the sound of the phone. Father was out working, so pretty much the only people who could be calling were either Emma or Alan. I went to the phone, and I saw that I was right. It was Emma's number. When I picked up the phone and greeted her, I heard a relieved sigh.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing. I just… called you before." she explained in a hurry, seemingly embarrassed. "Twice. So I was getting… a bit worried."

I understood than that last admission of hers was one hell of an understatement. I grimaced. I had been out of there for her, but the point was that I hadn't even thought of calling her beforehand or something so she didn't get worried. It must have been torture, sitting there, waiting, wanting to call, hoping that next time I would pick up the phone and fearing something had happened to me to. She didn't need this, at least of all so soon after the accident.

"I'm sorry." I said. "I was out, and, you know… I forgot my phone. Nothing happened."

Lying to her made me felt guilty, but what else could I do? I couldn't tell her such an important thing over the phone. That would be too careless. I was not paranoid, but neither was I stupid. There was no meaning in taking needless risks.

"Ah, I see. Sorry. I was hasty..."

Its only natural. That's what I had been about to respond, but I shallowed my words. She didn't need even more reminders of what happened, either.

"Its fine. Really." I finally answered. "Are you at home?"

I asked such a thing, even though I didn't really need to ask. But I wanted to confirm it. I guess some part of me wanted to believe she was already starting making progress even though it was far too early.

"Yes. Why?"

"So I can go over there, of course."

"...Thank you. I really appreciate it." Emma muttered.

"Well, what are friends for?" It was true. This was friends were for, and we were inseparable friends. It was the least I could do for her, the very least. "See you later, then."

"Yeah. See ya."

I hanged up. I moved to the basement, and hid my knife and the costume in a box that I later buried among boxes and other junk in the basement. It was a good hiding place. The basement had never be renewed, so it was the only one that used it. The chance that he could come across it was still there, but at least the chances of not getting found were higher that if I hid it in my room or anywhere else, really.

I got out, and headed for Emma's house. I felt… surprisingly naked without my naked, but I keep truckling along. Not having a weapon didn't meant I was defenceless and, anyways, there was no reason to carry it now. I could felt how the knife had cut cleanly throught their bodies, and I had the sense that the smell of blood hadn't left me even after having a through shower. Either some part of me was fearing having be discovered, the retaliation for it and that I would have to be prepare or those far too clear memories were keeping me on edge. Probably both. I took a deep breath.

Forcing myself to not think about those things, I upped the pace.

* * *

I knocked at the door, and waited. Silence. The faint sound of footsteps from the inside. I could see an eye from the hole in the door, Emma's. Once she saw me, she started unlocking the five locks. Of course, the door hadn't been like that at the beginning. But Emma had begged for it and Alan, being how he was, had acceded without even protesting. She needed that to felt safe. I knew that feeling. For a long time after that car accident, I couldn't even bring myself to get inside a car. I started walking to school by myself from then on instead of letting Dad take me before he went to work.

Trust had been broken, and it couldn't be so easily mended.

Frankly speaking, this world was a shit-hole. And I ain't only about the Endbringers. It had just keep going worse and worse. The PRT was fighting a losing battle of all sides, the people of poor countries lived worse that ever ruled by dangerous Parahuman warlords, crime ran rampant. But there were people like me, or Emma. Like we were before. The blessed ones who could walk throught their daily life unaware of how ugly the world really was… until it gave you a good kick in the teeth and you were forced to take it all in.

She opened the door slowly, despite checking. I could see one of her arms shaking a little. She only let herself relax a little when the door was fully opened. She smiled and hugged me wordlessly. I hugged her back, feeling right at home. What happened not too long ago seemed like a fragmented dream. Yeah. As long as she was there with me, I would always have a place to return to.

We got inside. There didn't seem to be anybody else in the house. We got to the living room, and I realized the television was on. Likely, she hadn't even been watching it as droll news were was what on the screen, and not something more to her taste. The volume was decent though. The news was not exactly the kind of thing preferable to watch after such a… thing. There were a lot of depressing news.

"Its Alan out?" I asked.

"Yes." she softly answered. "I didn't want him to go, but I couldn't keep him either. He has his job. I was… scared of being alone, so I called you twice, you didn't answer and I got myself more nervous like an idiot."

She let out a self deprecating laugh.

"...I'm afraid. I'm so afraid, and I'm trying to… get back to how I used to be." I stayed silent. I didn't expect her for her to want to let it all out of her chest this soon. "But I can't. I… The person I was is not there anymore. I still remember the pain, my hair being pulled and that sense of deep resignation that I was going to die or worse and there was nothing anybody could do about it. That I would just disappear like that, like mist, without leaving a trace. I remember it all too well. I know all I can do is move forward beyond that, but that's too hard. Seeing how this city is, how easily something even worse could happen to me. And that surely, I wouldn't be so lucky as to have a Cape save me before anything serious could happen."

I grimaced. I should have been there. If I had been there, I could have stopped before it would grown into more that a scare. How could I have know that was going to happen? Of course there was no way for me to know that and, besides, I couldn't stick to her all day every day anyway. But that didn't stop me for feeling bad.

"You don't have to worry." I said, apprehensive despite everything. "I will protect you. That's what friends are for."

"Taylor..." she laughed. It was a candid laugh, one that could have made me smile if the situation was different. "No offence, but you're a little too skinny for that."

"I'm not joking, Emma. You see… at that car crash..." I took a deep breath. "I got powers. So, I can indeed protect you."

"You..." her face softened. "You are serious, aren't you? What can you do?"

"Best if I show you." I said, went to the kitchen, grabbed a knife and went back. "Do you have something disposable? Something that would be impossible to cut with this kitchen knife?"

"Oh, sure." she scrambled around for something in a drawer… an empty box made of wood. She put it on the desk.

"Okay. I don't have super streght, or anything like that. What can I do… I see lines and points all over the world, if I don't restrain myself. By cutting a line or piercing a point, without putting streght behind it, the 'thing' collapses." I let out my eyes. The patchwork world replaced my vision in an instant. I took the kitchen knife and cut a line, cutting the box in half cleanly.

Silence. I didn't expect her to start clapping, but the silence was a little off putting. Now because I had pride in my powers, because I had none, but because it made me anxious wondering what she was thinking about now and if I had fucked up by revealing the truth. Then, Emma showed me a soft smile. My worries dissipated in an instant.

"That's really impressive." she said. "Well, then, Miss Hero, protect me from now on, okay?"

Her tone was joking, but I could sense a hint of desperate seriousness behind her words. I nodded resolutely. That's what I had been aiming for from the start. This would just make my resolution official, so to speak. She looked at me from a second and held her hand towards me. I grasped it and we shook hands.


End file.
